


Inked, Or, Gidget Gets A Tattoo

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Established Relationship, F/F, Fridget, Lesbian, Smut, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 13:19:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Franky's out and Bridget is the one feeling more free than ever before. Some ink doesn't fade.





	Inked, Or, Gidget Gets A Tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> I gave myself this title prompt and wrote this story as a response. I hope you all enjoy.

A quote is just a tattoo on the tongue. -- William F. DeVault  
__

Bridget never fell as hard and fast as she did for Francesca Doyle. She was a patient and that was a line Bridget swore she’d never cross. She knew that waiting until Franky’s release was the bare minimum she could do to avoid the look of impropriety but truth be told, she really should have waited until the dust had settled on her parole. 

Before she knew it they were living together. It happened so fast. Franky was staying at a halfway house as her parole had dictated but the warmth of Bridget’s embrace and the quiet of her home were more enticing. Within a few weeks of her release, staying over every other night became every night and soon enough her toiletries were no longer being shuffled from place to place.

During the day, Bridget worked with the women of Wentworth. Smiling at Vera was something Bridget had come to feel guilty about. They had become friends, drawn together by Ferguson’s insanity, and had forged a wonderfully reciprocal working relationship. Bridget knew she wouldn’t approve, but love made her not care as much as she knew she should.

In fact, Franky was encroaching on her thoughts more and more and Bridget felt the rush of young love in her forties. Her wine-swilling girlfriends judged her for her absences from their Friday night piss and moan sessions because she had less and less to piss and moan about since Franky. 

Not surprisingly, Franky was more fun than the ladies that lunch. Bridget beamed when she was around and Franky made her life immeasurably more interesting. Her music, her style, her tattoos. All of it was more fun than the group of aging professionals that Bridget kept company with prior to Franky’s release.

And now Friday nights were spent cooking and laughing and making love because the work week was over and they were free to finally be together. Inside Wentworth, Franky was within arm’s reach but they might as well have been long distance lovers. And somehow, waiting five whole days for the weekend seemed just as interminable as prison had. This feeling only intensified when Franky moved back to the halfway house and phone calls and wine-soaked dinners out were all they could manage. 

Franky stretched languidly beside Bridget, her painted arms reaching above her head and her long legs stretching for the foot of the bed. “I should go.”

Bridget sighed. Letting her leave was always the hardest part. She wanted to hold onto Franky as long as she could. She missed the nights she’d wake up to go to the bathroom at two a.m. and when she’d return to bed, Franky would wrap her up in her long arms and legs. For the first time in years, Bridget felt cherished. 

Franky’s love was unrelenting, which had caught Bridget off-guard. Not because it wasn’t reciprocated as fiercely but because of how loyal and loving Franky was. In their sessions it was apparent that she had the capacity to love, but Bridget never expected to be on the receiving end of it.

She had hoped that she would be, but when their affair began the heat was undeniable and she wondered it they’d burn too hot, too fast and fizzle out like the May-December romance her wine-guzzling friends teased her for. The opposite, however, had happened. Things had gotten more intense.

Tonight, as she lay in Franky’s arms, Bridget was reluctant to let go. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

Franky smiled at the ceiling, an effusive grin that made Bridget’s heart swell. “Gidge, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were feeling needy.”

Bridget hummed. “It’s been a long week. Stay with me.”

Franky pulled the sheet up and around them. “I thought you’d never ask.”

These were the nights Bridget had fantasized about; wrapped up in her arms, held so close, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle, and when the morning sunlight came streaming into the bedroom window, they made love again.

When her body had cooled and her eyes opened finally, Franky was brewing coffee. She stared at her bedroom ceiling and couldn’t remember being happier. Not once. Everything paled in comparison to Franky, who danced into the bedroom in her socks, tank top and hot pink underwear with her morning java. 

Bridget laughed, her joyful eyes tracking Franky as she climbed back into bed with the newspaper. “Happy Saturday, Gidge.”

Bridget hummed into her mug of coffee. “What shall we do today, baby?”

“We could stay in bed all day.” Franky kissed her neck.

“Frankyyy, we have to eat eventually.”

She kissed Bridget’s shoulder. “I’ll take you out for dinner.”

“A date?”

“That’s what the kids are calling it these days.”

She laughed. “Like the cinema? It’s been ages since I’ve seen a good film.”

“Whatever you like.”

“Shouldn’t we be doing what you like? You’re the one who has just been released.”

She took the mug from Bridget’s hand and set it aside. “Trust me,” Franky slid down her body and grinned. “I am doing what I like.”

Bridget’s laughter rang through the bedroom before she gasped and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Franky could steal her breath like no other woman ever had. Arching off the bed, Franky’s hands came to rest on Bridget’s waist as she coveted the blonde with her mouth. 

She took her time pleasing Bridget as the sun streamed in the window and lazily across the bed. It was a luxurious feeling as she stretched up the bed with Franky between her legs and when Franky covered her over with her body, their bodies fit together easily. 

Franky’s kisses here hot and wet, her hands planted on either side of Bridget’s shoulders. She grunted with effort as their bodies slid against one another. “Fuck… Gidge…” She breathed against her lips.

Franky’s hips moved roughly against Bridget bringing her to the precipice of pure pleasure. Bridget’s nails scraped Franky’s back insistently and before she could prepare for the warmth that flooded her body, Bridget tensed and release took hold.

Still moving above her, Franky bit her lip as her hips worked against Bridget. Her heavy-lidded gaze made Bridget hungry for more. She watched pleasure wash over Franky’s features and when Franky rolled off her and onto her back, Bridget followed. Laying her head on Franky’s shoulder, Bridget smoothed a hand over Franky’s stomach and reached lower, feeling the greedy need to touch her.

“What are you doing?” Franky’s voice was full of mirth.

Bridget hummed, her fingers inching further south. “There’s something I’ve got to get to the bottom of…”

Franky arched as Bridget’s fingers sunk into her. “Shit,” she breathed.

Her lips grazed Franky’s temple when she spoke: “Happy Saturday, Franky.”  
__

They made love into the afternoon, and when their bodies ached with satisfaction, Franky retreated to the shower and Bridget felt opulent as she finally read the paper in the nude. When Franky emerged from the shower, towel around her waist, another on her head as she dried her hair, Bridget was still busy with the newspaper.

“C’mon, lazy bones, get going. I’m starved.” Franky tossed the towel that she had been drying her hair with at Bridget.

“Hey!” Bridget laughed, discarding the paper.

“Go on then,” Franky teased as Bridget clambered out of bed and stood proudly before her.

“You are a hard mistress,” she said 

Franky feigned shock as Bridget walked past and swatted at her rear. Bridget laughed and rushed past her, out of the bedroom. She was alive. Her hard edges were smoothed over and she was a softer, younger version of herself with Franky.

As she showered away their lovemaking, Bridget began to feel refreshed and was looking forward to a good meal and a glass of fine wine, because despite the fact that she didn’t spend Fridays with the wine-bunnies anymore, she loved a good glass of wine--probably more often than was advisable but that was a subject for another day.

She shut off the water and reached for the towel hanging beside the shower. Franky was standing at the mirror doing her makeup, but spared a long glance in her direction as she dried off. Bridget smiled. She still had it. The fact that Franky, more than ten years her junior, was rapt when she was around made Bridget swell with pride. She wasn’t a vain woman by any stretch of the imagination, but she did take care of herself and it was nice to be appreciated.

She dressed languidly and applied her makeup, enjoying the slow simmer of their day. She heard Franky in the other room talking to someone on the phone but she couldn’t make out what was said. It didn’t matter, she was probably making dinner reservations. She appraised herself in the bathroom mirror. 

Franky poked her head around the bathroom door jamb. “Gidge, come on, you look great.” She smiled that Franky Doyle smile, dimples and all, and Bridget did her best not to melt. 

“Where are we off to?”

Franky pulled Bridget along by her hand down the hall. “It’s a surprise.”  
__

They drove through downtown, past the restaurant district and toward the rougher part of the city. Bridget was beginning to wonder if the red light district had a proper cinema when Franky reversed into a parking spot.

“What are you up to now?”

“Trust a girl, will ya Gidge?” She patted Bridget’s leg and opened her car door. She was around the passenger side quick enough to hold the door open for Bridget as she climbed out.

“Franky…” Her voice was unsure but she wasn’t nervous. She probably should have been--they were in a really dodgy part of town after dark--but Franky took her hand and she was blissfully unaware where she was being led.

The neon signs lit up the street in front of the shop before they were even close enough to read them. When they stopped in front of the shop, she half-expected to read “LIVE! NUDE! GIRLS!” in neon but instead read “TATTOOS” which if she were guessing, would have been her second guess.

“Bet you can’t guess what I’m in the mood for…” Franky’s grin was infectious.  
__

Bridget was boggling at the art samples on the walls--thousands of them--as Franky exchanged pleasantries with a very large, predictably tattooed man. She whipped around and looked at Bridget who had moved on from thorny roses to barbed wire and skulls.

“What’s your pleasure, Gidge?”

“Franky…” She was nervous now. She looked at the tattooed man and then back at Franky. “Me?”

Franky looked around. “You reckon?”

“Franky, I--”

“Not interested?”

“I guess I’ve never given it any thought.”

“What about now?” Franky smiled.

Franky was her painted lady, her beautiful canvas, and she honestly had never considered getting tattooed herself. But now, faced with all the options she had to admit the idea was rather alluring. 

“I’m not sure this is a decision I should make so quickly.”

“Pfff…” Franky scoffed. “I’ll go first. You’ll have plenty of time to pick something.”

Franky was a steamroller and she was rolling slowly and steadily toward Bridget. The large tattooed man she discovered was called Ryan smiled at her and Bridget set her jaw. This had the potential to be an unmitigated nightmare but she was determined to make the most of the experience. Franky followed Ryan into the small nook and a few moments later she heard the tattoo gun began to hum.

Age was nothing but a number, Bridget told herself. Trite and somewhat true. But she also knew that she didn’t want to be the shrink with Minnie Mouse tattooed on her arse. What, then? She stared at the flowers a long while before ruling them out. All manner of skulls, barbed wire, and flames were disregarded shortly thereafter. The humming of the tattoo gun stopped and started again and Bridget sighed. Turning her attention to the wall behind the counter previously blocked from her view by Ryan, something caught her attention.

She stepped closer. A small swatch of antique key and lock sets were nearly hidden behind the cash. 

“Find something?” She heard Franky say from behind her.

Bridget turned around and smiled at Franky who was peering at her from around the tattoo artist. “Yeah.” She nodded.

Her grin was the single-most wonderful thing in Franky’s arsenal. Her smokey eyes squinting with joy, the upturned corners of her mouth, and those dimples made Bridget weak-kneed. “I’m proud of you, Gidge.”

She walked into the nook and sat on a stool beside Franky. Ryan held Franky’s hand in hers and continued to color in the red ribbon attached to a small kite by her thumb. Bridget smiled at her personal symbol of freedom. 

“So the next question, where ya gonna put it?” Franky waggled her eyebrows. Ryan smirked and blotted the small kite with its red ribbon with gauze. Clearly, he was the strong, silent type. She watched as he put ointment on the tiny tattoo and covered it with a bandage. Franky hopped up and motioned to the chair. “Saddle up, Gidge.”  
__

Franky chewed her lip, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she watched the scene with interest. Bridget was laying back in the chair, stomach exposed as Ryan carefully etched an antique key and lock onto her hip. Franky juggled Bridget’s hand in hers as Ryan continued to scrape and shade the design he’d inked the onto her skin. 

It was a strange sensation, the needle penetrating the first layer of skin and applying ink to the wound as he moved it across her skin. It was more irritating than painful, but she was locked in now. There was always removal, she thought with a hint of mirth, but in all reality she’d never erase that moment with Franky--the look of wonder on her face, like she was living her first tattoo all over again, made Bridget feel prideful once again. If she was only as old as she felt, right at that moment she felt younger still.

Franky had that effect on her. She held Bridget’s hand, not because she needed comfort but because she wanted to be close to Bridget. Her growth had been astronomical and as a therapist it had not gone unnoticed. Stepping down as her counselor to be her lover was the most difficult decision Bridget had ever made but she was right--with the right mentorship, Franky would reap the benefits, and she had. They both had.

Ryan blotted the blood from her hip and reached for the ointment. Bridget sat up slightly and looked at her hip. The small, ornate key floated there, and Bridget felt an odd satisfaction. And in that instant she understood how it could become habit-forming. Soon, he had bandaged her as Franky chatted him up about her next, more substantial, piece. 

When they walked back into the night, Franky’s long arm snaked around her waist. “Hungry?”  
__

They were tucked into the corner booth of a little tapas bar in midtown. It was an old haunt of Franky’s that never failed to wow. Bridget was enjoying their date, however unconventional, and she leaned into Franky as she sipped a brilliant shiraz and picked at an empanada.

“You have really outdone yourself, Francesca.”

She grinned and hugged Bridget with her free arm. “The night’s not over yet.” Her bravado made Bridget’s heart leap into her throat. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, but she wasn’t going to call it quits just yet. She laughed low and sexy, well aware of what it did to Franky as she watched her squirm. “Let’s get out of here…”

Franky stood and pulled Bridget out of the booth, reaching into her pocket to drop a few bills onto the table before returning to the streets again. She walked to the car on Franky’s arm, swaying against her, feeling like she was the one that had just been released from prison. She felt Franky’s freedom changing her. They were free, in love with each other, in love with life, and as they sped towards her home Bridget touched the bandage on her hip.

Some things can’t be undone and that was okay. Bridget would always remember that night, when they returned home and Franky removed her bandage and washed her skin gently. She always touched Bridget reverently but as she taught her how to care for her new tattoo, Franky impressed her once more. 

She squeezed lotion into her palm and applied it to Bridget’s tattoo. “Good choice.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“I know you didn’t do it for my approval, but I appreciate what you did tonight, Gidge.”

Bridget smiled. “I had to see what the fuss was all about.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t terrible.”

Franky laughed. “C’mon, I know you enjoyed it a bit more than that.”

“Yeah, all right, it was good.”

“Good? Really, Gidge?”

“I didn’t love it and I didn’t hate it, how’s that?” 

“But you’d do it again.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I saw you admiring it.”

Bridget laughed. “Go on, get out of the way.” She pushed past Franky and walked down the hall to the bedroom. 

Franky padded into the bedroom after her, rubbing lotion onto the small tattoo on her hand. She wrapped her arms around Bridget from behind. “Can I just say how hot it makes me knowing I’m the only person who knows it’s there?” Franky breathed against her ear.

Bridget let her head fall back onto Franky’s shoulder as her lips moved to her neck. Her hands mussed Franky’s hair and she smiled at the ceiling. “Show me.”

Franky’s hands squeezed her waist and turned Bridget in her arms. She kissed her greedily as she peeled Bridget’s clothes off, and piece by piece, her outfit hit the floor. Bridget pulled at Franky’s top, and unbuttoned her jeans as Franky moved over her.

Arching off the bed, Bridget moved against Franky’s roving hands. Her mouth moved down her neck, covering her breast and Bridget was lost to the sensations of their lovemaking. She moaned something that sounded like Franky’s name with two extra syllables as Franky moved lower leaving wet kisses across her stomach. Franky paused at the antique key and lock emblazoned on Bridget’s hip and smiled.

Bridget leaned up on an elbow. “You like it?” She asked.

“It suits you.” Franky nodded. 

“Does it make you wet?”

Franky grinned. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Bridget’s hand smoothed down Franky’s side and to her front, cupping her gently. Slowly, she dragged a finger across her lover before dipping inside. Franky’s eyes squeezed shut and her dimples creased her cheeks.

“Not bad.” She smiled. “But we can do better.”

She pushed Franky onto her back and pressed herself between Franky’s legs. Moving her hips against Franky’s, Bridget sucked in a sharp breath as Franky’s leg inched up her thigh and over Bridget’s rear. She slid against Franky, holding her long leg to her side. Nibbling on Franky’s chin as her hips moved torturously slow against her, Bridget smiled. She was older, she was wiser, and Bridget still had a whole wide world of experience she could impart on Franky before the night was over.

Franky’s hand came to rest on her rear, holding her tightly to her. “Shit, Gidge,” she moaned.

Bridget grunted as she found herself flat on her back again, Franky above her. There was little to do but laugh at her good fortune. Quieting her quickly with a rough kiss, Franky pressed into her. Bridget wrapped her legs around Franky’s waist and lifted her hips off the bed as Franky continued to grind into her.

They were locked together, straining with effort, Franky’s face was buried in her neck and Bridget’s hands roamed Franky’s lanky body. She was a playground for her affections and a sanctuary for her fantasies. Bridget never imagined she’d come in the package she had, but Franky was a pleasure to love. 

Voluptuous and dangerous, unpredictable and exciting, Franky had flexed her way into Bridget’s psyche and charmed her. It was as wonderful as it was unexpected but also difficult to reconcile her station as a therapist. Franky was special, an exception to the rule, and while Bridget may have still harbored guilt for her decision to pursue a relationship, what they had together was otherworldly. 

“Frankyyy…” Bridget moaned into her hair.

Franky captured her mouth with a kiss again, arching her back as she climaxed against Bridget, who was hungry, ready, and when Franky’s hand reached between them, she was done for. Franky’s finger slipped into Bridget. “Shit,” was all she could choke out before she was lost to the sensations once again. Mouth agape, she tensed and stretched back towards the headboard.

Her heart still pounding in her chest, Bridget’s body began to calm as Franky smoothed her hands over her cheeks. When she opened her eyes, Franky was smiling down at her. “Damn, you make that look good.”

Bridget chuckled and covered her face with a hand. “God,” she sighed. “You’re really good at that.”

She led with the dimples, leaning in to kiss Bridget. “You’re not so bad yourself, Gidge.” Bridget’s laughter filled the room as Franky rolled off her and hugged Bridget against her. They laid together in a quiet tangle of arms and legs for a time before Franky spoke again. “Ever since I met you, I feel different.” She sighed. “You changed my life, Bridget.” Her eyes glistened in the darkness of the bedroom. “I love ya.”

Bridget’s heart smiled. Watching Franky’s transformation had been the most gratifying experience as a therapist. A smart woman with a terrible start to life, moving past her brutal past and getting a second chance at life--it was a success story of the highest order and she had a front row seat for the best parts. “I love you, too.” Bridget’s smile touched her eyes. “But I can’t take credit for that. You did the work.”

“Sure you can. One might even say, you held the key,” she said, smoothing her thumb across the new tattoo, its dark outlines angry and raised.

“Maybe I finally found the lock that fit my key after all these years.”

“I always thought my key was a lock pick. Maybe that was part of the problem?”

Bridget laughed and Franky joined in. It was easy being free with Franky. It was hard to believe the way it started, but there were no regrets. And the key that clung to the kite on Franky’s hand at her hip said it all. Franky was a dreamer and Bridget was a believer and lightning was inevitable.


End file.
